


Frame Story

by SuperTeenLock_1723



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, Sad, Sad Ending, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21578311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperTeenLock_1723/pseuds/SuperTeenLock_1723
Summary: So, I had to write a frame story (story within a story) for English class and wanted some feedback! This story has to do with kidnapping, and there's implied rape and suicide. Trigger warning!





	Frame Story

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that this is about a kidnapping and has implied rape and suicide. This may trigger you. Read at your own risk. 
> 
> If you read, please leave feedback!

The therapist cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her. I squirmed awkwardly, refusing to make eye contact, staring at the wallpaper until the design started to blend together, and melt. 

“Are you ready to talk about it?” She asked, breath smelling like mint, and I looked back at her, my eyes blank. 

I didn’t speak, though. I never did. Ever since I escaped I haven’t been able to talk to anyone. I was afraid that once I did, I would be back there. Like this was all a fragile dream and as soon as I spoke, it would break. I would wake up back in that filthy place, lice crawling through my eyebrows and hair, mold surrounding where I was shackled to the wall. 

I was broken and I knew it. Everyone around me knew it too. I couldn’t be saved. Not after being trapped in the man’s basement for almost five years. 

~~

You always hear stories about a person being kidnapped for so long that everyone had just given up and assumed they were dead, only to finally be found and come back to an elated family and old friends. 

Not me, though. I had no one. I came home to a drunk dad and dead mom. The only story of what happened was told to me by neighbors, my father passed out most nights and gone the rest. Soon after I went missing, my father turned to alcohol, and placed the blame on my mom. He became abusive, his shouts heard by the entire neighborhood night after night. I guess my mom just couldn't take it anymore. The yelling. The cuts. The bruises. But most of all, she couldn't stand the guilt. The emptiness in her life that was once filled with happiness, brought by her only child.

No one could save her either. Like mother like daughter. 

But even the victims’ who did have someone to come home too, they were different. Used. Broken. Scarred. Just like me. And even the most grateful parents couldn’t understand the trauma. No one ever could unless they’d been through a similar experience. 

My therapist always asked me the same question. ‘Are you ready to talk about it?’ And to be honest, I was starting to think that I never would be ready. Until the day that I was.

~~~~~

I guess I'll start from the beginning… I first saw him at the pizza parlor. Some nights, when I stayed at school late, my mom would have me go in and order a pepperoni. 

The only information I knew about him was picked up from streetside gossip. He was new to town, and was running from his past. 

But I guess everyone has a past to run from. 

Nobody knew what he was running from. He didn't talk much. But everyone saw the way his eyes lingered on young girls for just a second too long. But this was a small town. The crime rate here was almost nonexistent. Nobody saw him as a real risk. 

That was the problem, I guess. Everybody saw the signs, but they just assumed nothing would come of it. But I experienced first hand what this man was capable of. 

Mom took an extra shift, and my dad was away on a business meeting. Maybe that's why he blamed her… She was supposed to protect me when he was away. I don't think his blame is what broke her, though. I think her self blame is what killed her in the end. 

Guilt is like a disease. It eats away at you until there's nothing left to eat…

Anyways, why she did what she did was irrelevant. Because that's not what my story is about. My story is much darker. 

The pizza parlor is where it started, and everytime he was the cashier I stumbled over my words, his icy blue stare making me uneasy. I didn't like the way his eyes drifted over to me as I waited for the pizza, or how he'd find every excuse possible to touch me. I was 17. Just a kid. He was in his thirties. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't know what to do about it. 

You never hear about a person being kidnapped in this town. That word was just a word to me. There was no real meaning behind it. The town's false sense of security is what made me think it was just me. Like my feelings didn't matter because nothing ever happened here. Boy was I wrong. 

After that, I saw him everywhere I was. It was stalking, I know that now. But five years ago I was a naïve kid worrying about my GPA and fitting in. 

I wasn't worried about being kidnapped. I was just a kid… 

It was three months, I think, after our first encounter that it happened. I was walking home around eight, it wasn't even that dark out. But he grabbed me, pulled me into the nearest alley and…

But that's not when he actually took me. He let me go. I didn't know it was him. I never saw his face. But after he took me, everything just fell into place.

I felt so dirty after. But I was embarrassed, too. I didn't fight back like I should have. I didn't scream. It was as if I was frozen in fear. 

But things like this just didn't happen in my town. I couldn't tell anyone. They wouldn't understand. They probably wouldn't have even believed me? I'd just be another teenager making up stories to get attention to them. 

Maybe, if I did something different, this all would of been prevented. But I can't change it now. It is what it is. 

It was only a few weeks after when I found myself walking home alone again. It was later this time. And not only was it dark, it was foggy. Like a scene out of a horror movie. 

I took the long way that night. I had gotten into a fight with my mom before work. And I wanted to think everything over before seeing her again. I was thinking about my apology when I was suddenly grabbed from behind. 

After the… I panicked, trying to fight the guy off, trying to scream. But he was stronger. He held me tightly so I was pressed up against his chest, his hand covering my mouth, pressing hard. 

I'll never forget the way he leaned in close, breath hot and sticky against my neck when he whispered, 'Be a good girl for me,' I felt sick, bile climbing my throat and fast. But I swallowed it down, along with my fear, and something in me just knew that I had to calm down, or else I wouldn't survive. 

I didn't fight him as he put me in his trunk. I curled in on myself, praying to a God I didn't believe in to save me. 

The air felt toxic, burning my lungs with every breath in, I was beginning to feel claustrophobic. 

I was stuck in the pitch black for what felt like days, but in reality may have been mere minutes. But I couldn't tell. 

I tried paying attention to all of the turns he took and how far he went straight, but the turns taken seemed random, and I soon gave up. 

The house he pushed me into was definitely not one from town. I had no idea where we were and I was terrified. Afraid that any wrong move would break the already fragile line of life I had left. 

The house was filthy, trash everywhere and it smelled of urine and mold. 

I soon learned it wasn't where he lived. He'd be gone for days, and I'd be alone in the basement, shackled to the wall, using all of the strength I could muster to try and break free. 

But it was hard to find strength when I would be deprived of food for days, stuck alone on a cold, cement floor, mold on the floor, and though I never got a clear look, I swore the thing in the corner of the room was a dead body. 

It smelled of rotten meat in there, and there were brown stains on the ground and though I had never been exposed to this sort of thing, something primal in my brain told me it was dried blood. The same part that told me the thing in the corner was the body of a young girl, younger than me. 

He would feed and water me the bare minimum to keep me alive, making me eat and drink out of bowls on the ground like a filthy animal. 

He'd do unspeakable things to me. Things that haunt me day and night. 

I was 17, way past the age where you get your period, but I was so malnourished that it eventually stopped coming. 

I didn't feel like a girl, anymore. I didn't feel like a human. I felt like a toy. Something kept for someone else's enjoyment. And I could so easily be thrown away. 

My days and nights blended together, there were no windows so I never knew when the day ended and the next one started. The rare sleep I got was tainted by nightmares that made it hard to breathe.

Hopelessness came in waves, crashing over me, making me feel like a person lost at sea. 

I was going crazy. I started to hallucinate. Started to talk to myself. But that's what happens when you have limited human contact, and the only kind you got was negative. 

I missed my parents, my friends, my home. But most of all, I missed the girl I used to be. I still miss her. And I know I'll never be able to get her back. 

This isn't my full story. Not even close. But it's my main story. It's the story that haunts me most. Because all of the horrible things he did to me didn't even light a match to the pain of being completely alone. Only having yourself to keep your company. That's a feeling I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. 

And even though he's in prison, on death row for what he did to me, I still have nightmares. I still fear that at any moment I'm going to be back there. That he's going to find me. That this was all a trick. When I look in the mirror, I see him staring back at me with those icy blue eyes. 

I don't think I'll ever be able to go back to being me. Because even though I was rescued, I'm still in that place. And I don't think I can ever escape. 

~~~~~

I neatly folded the paper that contained my story. The one I read from to my therapist. Putting it down with shaking hands, I turned back to look at the rope. 

There was only one way I could ever escape. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback please? I worked really hard on it


End file.
